Black Rose
by Devora McCovington1
Summary: When the Weasleys disappear on a trip to Alderly Edge, and Harry sinks into the abyss of desolation. Hermione turns to Draco Malfoy for answers. But will what could never be spark off into true love? Even when destiny is written against them?
1. Begin the End

Black Rose

Devora McCovington

***************

Chapter 1

****************

As her luck had it, Potions was Hermione's last lesson of the first term. The dungeons, being nicer-looking versions of grottos, were freezing. Harry, Ron and Hermione had to crowd around Hermione's cauldron, which was the only one in the entire seventh year that wasn't somehow damaged by now, in exception of Draco Malfoy's. That however, was probably owing to the fact that his parents had bought him a new one every time his old one started to tarnish. Hermione privately wondered why they didn't just send him one every week, along with his rations of sweets. This day however, was unusual. Snape wasn't there. Rumour was running that Lupin's potion hadn't worked effectively the night before and he had bitten Snape when he saw him gathering halcherweed by the lake. Even though Hermione had never really liked Snape, she found herself hoping the rumours weren't true. Exactly why, she had no idea. 

Madame Pomfrey was covering for them, being the only adult in the school apart from Dumbledore who had a knowledge of potions to match Snape's, and everyone in the class could tell she'd much rather be looking after sick, spluttering patients in the hospital wing, no matter how disgusting their case. She did; however, seem to have a knack for shouting over her cauldron things like:

"BULSTRODE, STOP THAT RIGHT NOW! SEE ME AFTER CLASS TO ARRANGE YOUR DETENTION."

So far, the ones who were sentenced to two weeks of scrubbing bedpans in the Infirmary were Millicent Bullstrode, Seamus Finnigan, Neville Longbottom, and (to Hermione's delight) Draco Malfoy and Belladonna Nott, when Madame Pince caught them 'fooling around' (in her own words) under the table. No doubt Malfoy and Nott would have their parents complain loudly to Madame Pomfrey about her ideas of rules and regulations. Hermione doubted it would make a difference. After Voldermort's downfall two years ago, by Harry's hand, it became clear to anyone with a half a brain that the Malfoys and the Notts were no more respectable than Lord Voldemort himself. 

"Stupid gits." Ron murmured as he stirred the solution. "Tell me, honestly Hermione, that we were certainly not that bad."

She opened her mouth to speak but Harry beat her to it.

"Actually, I think you were worse."

Hermione spluttered indignantly and kicked Harry in the shins.

"Shut up Harry. You weren't better off with my sister. And with Cho Chang! Oh don't even get me started with her." Ron stabbed a finger at him

Harry turned beet red and busied himself with his sea urchin spines. Hermione snorted ungracefully and watched as Ron struggled to pull the cauldron away from the fire. She watched in amusement and waited until he had managed to push it over next to the wall.

"You know," she said slowly. "We do have a wand for something."

Ron turned to look at her, and blinked. It took him a second to figure out what she meant, then he slapped his hand against his forehead, hard.

"Stupid." He muttered.

Hermione grinned.

Madame Pomfrey stood up and bellowed over the usual monotonous drone of the classroom.

"I expect everyone to be finished with their potions by now" 

Neville looked like he was about to faint.

"I want all of you to use the pairs working directly to your left as test subjects. Please hurry up, I really don't have any time to waste." 

She grumbled something about incompetent help at the hospital wing and not being surprised if three of the patients were dead by the time she got back and shuffled the papers on her desk.

Hermione didn't need to look. Judging by the looks on Harry and Ron's faces, the people working directly to their left just 'happened to be' Draco Malfoy and Belladonna Nott. 

"Surprise, surprise, surprise." Nott said, her voice cool and composed. 

"The three musketeers. Potter, Weasley and Granger. I should have known you'd work together. Absolutely inseparable. Even, I daresay, in Death."

Her eyebrows, already unnaturally shaped, stretched up like arrows as her eyes glinted in Hermione's direction. Malfoy wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and rested his head on her shoulder.

"Don't waste your time, Belle. You couldn't get anything passed their thick skulls, even if you wanted to." 

Ron sneered.

"Shut up Malfoy. Let's get this over and done with." 

He grabbed the silver goblet from the tabletop, scooped out some of the potion from the cauldron and thrust it violently in Malfoy's direction.

"No need to be so aggressive Weasley." Malfoy said, as he took the goblet from Ron's grasp. "After all, you wouldn't want to spill anything on the floor would you?" He smirked as he remembered the incident in potions in their fifth year when Ron had spilt gogorna potion all over the dungeon floor, and completely burnt away the stone tiling. Harry sighed.

"Get on with it." He muttered at Malfoy, and took the goblet from Nott's grasp. He eyed the potion suspiciously.

"Are you sure you haven't chucked in anything poisonous Malfoy?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out." Malfoy said, as he twisted   
Nott's hair around his wrist. Hermione sighed impatiently

"Oh this is ridiculous." She snapped, and took the goblet. She dipped her wand into the potion and muttered.

"Veritas venenare." 

The potions, at least to Ron's eyes, glowed for a moment then turned blue. Hermione sighed.

"It's fine."

Belladonna clapped her hands slowly, the odd smile still on her face.

"Bravo. Very impressive." 

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'll try it first."

Hermione glanced at him.

"Are you sure?"

"It's hardly life threatening Hermione."

"You can never be too sure with them." Ron muttered as he eyed Malfoy and Nott, who smiled sarcastically and turned away. Harry sighed again and took a gulp of the potion. 

He gasped and grabbed the table for support.

"Christ Harry, you all right?" Ron said, as he took a step towards his friend. Hermione grabbed him by the sleeve and shrugged. 

"Side effect." She said. "A bit like pollyjuice." 

Ron opened his mouth.

"Shut your mouth Ron. A moth will fly into it." 

Ron glared at Hermione and folded his arms. Harry stumbled, then stood up.

"I don't think it worked." He muttered. 

"Strange." Hermione said, already flipping through the pages of her book. "Normally, you're supposed to feel it if it changes you. It reverses your personality after all"

"Oi! Malfoy! Stupid git, your potion didn't even work!" Ron shouted. Madame Pomfrey tutted and scribbled something down in her book

"Pardon?" Malfoy said, turning his head towards them.

"I said your potion didn't even work! Promising! I wonder what will happen to those full marks you keep getting?"

"I'm so sorry! Would you like me to make another one for you? By the way, I saw that painting you made of Hagrid and Fang. It's absolutely spiffing! Really, you must teach me how you do that! And Hermione I must say, that hairstyle does wonders on you"

"Give up. At least we know our potion worked." Hermione grunted, untying her hair from the high ponytail it was in. Belladonna sneered at Hermione and pulled Draco possessively to the side, who at once started to praise her on the eye shadow colour she was wearing. 

"How long does it last?" Ron said, biting his lip to stop from laughing.

"Three hours." Hermione answered.

"Brilliant! Does anybody mind if I follow Draco around all day? I wonder if I can persuade Colin to lend me his camera? Oh if this isn't blackmail I don't know what is!" 

Harry and Hermione laughed.

"Year 7, class is finished. Have a good holiday." Madame Pomfrey muttered un-enthusiastically. If anything, this did nothing but promote Ron's elation. Hermione grabbed her bag and waited for Harry and Ron. The trio walked through the darkened corridors of the school, the portraits, good and bad, chatting about the upcoming holidays hung twisted by the wind on the walls.

"You have packed haven't you Ron?" Hermione asked, smiling as she waved to Hannah Abbott.

"Erm…Well… not exactly."

"WHAT?" She almost screamed. She stopped dead in her tracks and jumped straight in front of him.

"YOU HAVEN'T PACKED?"

"Erm…you see… Neville and me were having a game of erm…chess

and…well it turns out he's pretty good."

"That's not an excuse! You're leaving tomorrow morning and I PROMISED your mother I'd make sure all your things were neatly packed! You KNOW she wants to make a good impression! It's the first family reunion she's ever been to! Ron how could you be so selfish?"

"I was…sort of hoping you'd help me." Ron said, pulling on the shoulder strap of his bag.

"What? Ron! No! This is your problem! You told me you'd spend the evening packing yesterday and you didn't!"

"Hermione really! What difference is it going to make? You'd take one look at my trunk and start ranting and raving about neatness and organisation, throw everything out and pack it again, teaching me how to fold my robes in the process, which by the way, you should write a book on!"

"Hermione, I'll side with Ron with this. You really are never ever happy with the way we fold our clothes or, for that matter, anything else."

"Fine! Absolutely fine! But don't expect me to be in your dormitory at three o'clock in the morning helping YOU fold your clothes!"

***

"Ron! That's completely wrong! You fold the sleeves inwards to the back! How many times have I told you-"

"What did I tell you?" Ron muttered in Harry's direction. "I knew the sight of clothes thrown anywhere and everywhere would get her started."

"You are nothing but a pig-headed idiot who does not understand the art of packing!" Hermione slammed her fist furiously on the floor, rattling a jar full of keys.

Harry laughed as he slid some blank parchment paper into a portfolio Hermione had leant Ron "To do your essays. They count for one third of our final N.E.W.T results you know!". The round top desk was cluttered with bits and pieces. An autographed copy of the Chuddley Canons lay opened and dog-eared on top of numerous open ink bottles, random pieces of homework were torn and scribbled on, and several quills were unusable in one way or another. Harry found himself tutting, and shut his mouth before Ron heard him. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a revision planer Hermione had drawn up for both of the boys. Of course neither of them had followed it, and the box at the bottom that Hermione had charmed to comment on the way their revision was going was flashing Hermione's neat handwriting at him "APPALING! STOP CONCENTRATING ON QUIDDITCH TACTICS AND START WORRYING ABOUT THE DEVELOPEMENTS IN ALCHEMY OVER THE LAST TWO HUNDRED YEARS!" 

Harry smirked and slid the timetable into the portfolio 'just in case.'

He was about to close the drawer when something caught his eye. It looked like a very old family picture of the Weasleys. He picked it up gingerly and peered at it closely. It was sepia, and he could see the Weasley's house in the background, towering over the family. Arthur Weasley was playing with what looked like a younger Charlie, and Molly Weasley was shouting at Fred and George, who were pointing accusing fingers at one another other. Bill and Percy were sitting on the steps of the front porch of the Burrow, sharing a copy of _Advanced Transfiguration for 10-15 year olds_, and Ron was playing cat and mouse with Ginny. Harry blinked and drew the picture closer to his face. No, he was right, and it definitely wasn't a trick of the light. There was not one, but _two _Ginnys. He glanced over at Ron, who was looking very bored with Hermione's explanation on why bed sheets went at the bottom of the trunk, and not at the top, complete with furious pointing fingers. 

"Ron," Harry said, the picture still in his hand. "Why are there two Ginnys in this picture?" 

"Eh?" Ron asked, looking glad to finally have an excuse to escape from Hermione's nagging. 

"Look here. There are two Ginny's running." 

Ron leaned over and looked curiously. "No idea." He said finally. "It must have been one of her friends or something. There used to be a lot of wizarding folk living in Wattenshire." 

"Ron, _SHUT UP, AND GET ON WITH YOUR BLOODY PACKING!"_

Hermione shouted, spinning a book dangerously around her head. Ron let out an angry sigh.

"Hermione, give me that book." 

She flung it at him, and he caught it easily. He flicked through the pages, and jabbed his fingers at one of the lines. He grabbed his wand from his pocket and flicked it at the pile of clothes on is bed. 

"_Purgare_" He muttered, and to Harry's amazement, the clothes flew into the trunk, and folded themselves perfectly. Hermione's jaw dropped.

"I can't believe you didn't know that one Hermione" Ron taunted, as he flicked his wand at he pile of books in his desk. 

Hermione sniffed and stuck her nose in the air.

"Sometimes the muggle way is best." 

Harry snorted.

"Excuse my asking Ron, but exactly why didn't you do that in the first place?"

"Because, my good friend, Hermione enjoys packing. And I am a good friend, so I treat her to a night long festivity of packing my trunk. But when Hermione starts hurtling books at me, I draw the line."

Hermione looked like she'd just swallowed a 12 inch blast-ended skrewt.

"I do not enjoy packing!" She spluttered indignantly. 

Harry and Ron exchanged glances.

"I do not!" 

"Of course you don't Hermione." Harry said, in mock sympathy. "Ignore Ron. After all, he is nothing but a pig-headed idiot who does not understand the art of packing." 

Ron laughed, and Hermione turned beet red.

"Well, what? He is pig-headed. And he doesn't understand the art of packing."

"I've heard about many strange arts Hermione, including the art of repairing glasses, but I've never, ever, heard of the art of packing." Harry said, leaning against the wall.

"Just because you haven't heard of it doesn't mean it doesn't exist! You've never heard of Kinkapungus Byrronslater and he exists! He was the first person ever to successfully charm a cauldron so that it wouldn't over boil!"

"Now you sound like Percy." Ron said. 

"That's not bad! Percy is extremely successful in his career! I wish you would take a leaf out of his book, Ron, and start taking your education seriously!"

"I do take education seriously Hermione. Why, education is a great friend of mine! If it weren't for education, I would never have read about the Chuddley Canons, or figured out how to expand Malfoy's head to the size of a rather small whale."

"That's not taking education seriously. Taking education seriously does not involve a revision schedule that had a comment flashing at the bottom telling you to get your rear end off the quidditch pitch and into the library!"

"I'll live without my rear end being portrayed in the library thank you very much Hermione."

"That's not what I said!"

" I know."

"Then why on earth did you say it?"

"Because Hermione, I have great fun winding you up."

"You were not winding me up!"

By this time Harry was sure Hermione's constant yelling had woken up half of Gryffindor House.

"Do us a favour Hermione." He hissed. "Shut up!" 

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it several times. Finally, she sniffed violently and sauntered proudly out of the room.

"Barking, raving mad." Ron sighed. "That's what she is."

" As opposed to you, because you are perfectly sane and in control of your mind all the time."

Ron looked at him and blinked.

"I think it's getting late." 

And with that, he flicked his wand at his desk, and the essays, parchment rolls, quills and letters came flying into the trunk.

"Good night." 

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Good night."

He left the room with half-closed eyes, feeling desperate for sleep. 

Harry Potter fell asleep on his bed that night, surrounded by the red drapes of his four poster bed. He didn't wake up the next morning to say good bye to his best friend. He spent Christmas with Hermione, and read Ron's post cards as they came from Alderly Edge. 

He didn't do any revision, and Hermione nagged. He didn't do any of his essays, and Hermione threw an ink well at him. He didn't care for the outside world until Hermione came stumbling into his room one snowy afternoon, holding a newspaper clipping that looked like it had been dragged through hell, tears cascading down her cheeks. 

And when Harry Potter looked at the headline of the article, he realised that fate never took the path it was told to. 


	2. Desolate

II  
Desolate.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
A/N: I'm changed the rating for this series to PG-13, since in this chapter more than the other, there is un-necessary swearing that I threw in because Thesauruses don't swear, and references to what you would call, if you were the pope, the sinful act of love.   
Glory be.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Draco Malfoy stared at the headline of the daily prophet as if it had just sprung up and done a complicated tap dancing routine in front of him.  
"Jesus Christ." He muttered. His mother glared at him.  
"Your father might not mind you swearing Draco, but please. Not in front of me."   
"Mother, that is un-important. Listen to this."   
He cleared his throat.  
"Last night, as the wizard and muggle community came together in a rare moment of harmony to celebrate the new year, several wizards in the village of Alderly Edge sent urgent owls to the ministry informing them that the forest in Alderly, known to us as the Edge had disappeared before their very eyes. None of the muggles seem to have realised this, which does nothing but promote this reporter's theory that the whole lot of them are in fact jarveys dressed in over-elaborate costumes.   
There is nothing so special about this. After all, magical forests are known to sulk and disappear for years. But there is hair in this soup.   
For centuries, people have been telling the ministry to put a closer guard on The Edge. The reason for this is obvious to anyone who knows the difference between Tibetan worship rituals and modern muggle dance. (Disqualifying James Bradshaw, if you please.)   
In the age of Merlin, when King Arthur was on his Death bed, he ordered for the finest white knights in the country to be sent into a grotto in the Edge, where they would sleep for all eternity, only to be awakened to fight when Britain was in the gravest of perils.  
It's a pity they didn't turn up when Cornelius Fudge was chosen to be Minister of Magic.   
Adding wood to the fire, The Johansens, McCaughins, Weasleys and Dowlings were in the Edge at the time, celebrating the New Year. The four families had got together for a family reunion. It ended, as you see, in chaos.   
There is no evidence to prove that they are still alive.   
"It's a perfect example of incompetence on the ministry's part." Says angry parent George MacDowell, who was one of the ten wizards to contact the ministry. "My son Alex could have done a better job guarding the Edge if he was armed with a rubber chicken."  
Perhaps this will make Mr Fudge think twice about those Grindylows he's been talking about using to guard Atlantis.  
Happy New Year.  
Rita Skeeter."  
  
Draco looked at his mother expectantly.   
"Is she at it again? Thank the Lord. The Prophet was becoming rather tiresome without her."  
"That's precisely what I was thinking, mother.  
  
***  
Neither Harry nor Hermione had taken the news very well. They started to live separate lives, whereas before they did everything together, attached like Siamese twins at the hip.  
Hermione buried herself in research, forgetting about the outside world completely.  
Harry ceased to exist, spending day after day thinking about his life under the bed covers.   
Hermione only visited him once.  
It was a miserable afternoon when she knocked timidly on Harry's door. He threw the cover over his head and shouted groggily:  
"Go away."  
Hermione hesitated, then pushed open the door. She was almost surprised when Harry didn't throw a knife at her throat.   
"Harry. It's me." She whispered. Harry showed no sign that he could hear her.   
"Harry, its Hermione. Come on. Talk to me." She pleaded. Harry curled his legs up close to his chest.   
Hermione sighed.   
"Harry please. I've had at least three owls from Sirius telling me how sorry he was for Ron and asking me how you were. Well naturally, I had to tell him the truth. I don't think he was very pleased Harry, honestly."   
Harry sniffed un-voluntarily and crawled lower under the bed sheets.   
Hermione threw her arms out and shouted:  
"Are you going to answer me or not?"  
Silence from Harry. This was the final straw. She stormed over to Harry's bed and threw off the blanket.  
"Look at you." She shrieked. "You're practically skin and bone! Harry! You can't keep doing this to yourself!" She stared down on the frail boy, the horror only too obvious in her eyes.   
"I can do whatever I damn well please." Harry said. His voice sounded hollow. Creux.   
"No! No you can't! I won't let you!"   
She grabbed of his arms, screamed and jumped back, like she'd been burnt.   
"Harry, you're freezing! Please, just, let me take you to the infirmary please!" She shouted, her voice barely audible behind the rumble of thunder in the background.   
"Go away. Aren't you wasting precious homework time on me?"  
These words stung Hermione. The barrier of tears that had been threatening to break since she'd uncovered poor little Harry Potter, bags heavier than rocks under his eyes, his skin sallow and clinging to his bones like rubber, his eyes almost dead and blistery, ceded to his words.   
"I don't care! You're more important than that! I love you Harry and I'm not going to let you waste away here!"  
Harry laughed. It was a painful laugh, almost identical that of one whom had never laughed before.   
"Probably because you couldn't stand the stench of rotting flesh. You'd come in here one night, spray the room over with disinfectant and chuck me out the window."  
Hermione stared at him in horror.   
"You can't - that's not - Harry! For Christ's sake you know I wouldn't do that! You know we used to be friends if you can remember that far back!"   
She shouted, stabbing a finger in Harry's direction. He sat upright in bed and sneered at her.  
"You know what I remember Hermione? I remember Ron and me, sitting at opposite ends of a chessboard wondering when you'd ever leave the library. I remember you being too busy to come to Hogsmeade with us because you were too busy researching Manitcores. I remember you not coming to Sirius's trial under the pretence that you were doing a bonus essay for Binns on the Salem witchcraft trials. The point is you were never there Hermione. You were too wrapped up in your own studies to care about anything else."  
  
Hermione's shoulders shook as she fought to maintain her composure.   
"What's wrong with wanting to succeed?" She asked, biting deep into her lip. She tasted blood.  
"Nothing. Nothing at all." He leaned back against the headrest and stared at the thunder raging outside. Hermione cried silently.  
"Harry, please. Even if you hate me so much you can't stand to look at me, please remember that I'll always love you. But -."  
Harry snorted.  
"But -." She continued, faltering a bit. "I have to do this Harry. I just have to. I'm so sorry."  
Harry glanced at her and opened his mouth as she pulled out her wand.  
"I'm so sorry." She whispered.  
"Dormiens."   
Harry's eyelids fluttered shut and he fell into a deep sleep. Hermione let out a cry like a wounded animal and threw her wand out the loophole. She hid her face in her hands and cried.  
Hermione Granger cried for the friendship that was forever lost. She cried for the hero that Harry had once been. She cried for the man he had become.  
She cried for Harry. For Harry and the Weasleys.  
  
***  
  
There was an unusual silence at Hogwarts when the term started. People were watching Hermione out of the corner of their eyes, as if she were an impending disaster, and her sudden change in appearance was as much of a secret as was Padma Patil's social life. She had lost so much weight her wrists were like twigs in the wind, needing just a shift to break them, and her skin was every bit as sallow as that of a dead mouse. She began to look like the version of Harry that had scared her to her wits end. Her grades slipped drastically, and fell to rock bottom. She lingered around Ron's paintings in the student gallery, stroking the dry paint with her fingers. She looked up at the one he had painted of her, Harry and himself when they had spent the summer in France. It was the only one of his paintings that he hadn't charmed to move. She refused to sleep, claiming that she couldn't handle the nightmares. And even though she was told by an endless list of people to do so, she never visited Harry. She told everyone that the friendship was over, that it turned out it was Ron who was the basis of the friendship after all. And now that he was gone, there was no reason for them to be friends anymore.   
Anyone with half a brain could tell she didn't believe herself.  
She became a lone wolf, hunting for herself, protecting herself from the cold.   
It was in Potions that everything ended. It was in Potions that the process of re-incarnation started.  
  
She was stirring her Sobberdus potion, alone. The wooden staff felt like a wild thorn between her hands.  
She forgot to be amazed when Professor Snape whispered "I'm sorry." And smiled at her as if she were dying.   
Which she was, in effect.  
But she didn't forget to hate when Draco Malfoy sauntered up to her, and dropped a note on her desk. Numbly she picked it up, and unfolded it gently.  
"If Potter dies, you can join them all in hell if you killed yourself."  
She screamed and threw herself at Malfoy, knocking him to the stone tiling, hitting him with clenched fists, biting him where she could.   
"You bastard! You fucking sodding bastard!" She cried.  
She vaguely heard horrified shrieks behind her and Belladonna Nott screaming:   
"Stop it! Stop it! You're damaging him! He's no good to me impotent!"  
Then she'd been pulled to her feet, and Draco was staggering away from her, holding a heavily bleeding arm.   
"20 points from Gryffindor! Ms Granger I understand you are upset but that is not good enough a reason to-" Snape shouted, sounding like McGonagall for a fleeting instant.  
"Professor-"  
"Mr Longbottom, sit down!"  
"No sir, it's just-"  
"5 points from Gryffindor! Sit down!"  
Hermione struggled against Seamus's grasp, and spun her head around, choking on her screams.   
Neville was holding Draco's note, trembling from head to toe, but staring at Snape resolutely. She wailed hoarsely and dropped herself to the floor, Seamus whispering to her.  
"Sir, please I found this." Neville thrust the note at Snape and staggered back, vaguely aware of Hermione's eyes on him.   
Snape's eyes narrowed as he read it.  
"Mr Malfoy, come here please." Dean and Parvati pushed Draco forwards, and Snape looked at him over the note.   
"This is, I believe, your handwriting."  
"No, sir, it isn't."  
Snape took a small vial from his desk.  
" Open."   
Draco stared at him. Snape sighed.  
"You, sir, are not Mr Longbottom. The word 'open does not mean a thousand different things to you."  
Neville had no time to feel offended. In a split instant Snape had forced open Draco's jaw, and poured a stream of liquid down his throat. Draco coughed and spluttered, but pulled himself together in a very Malfoy-like manner.  
"My father will hear about this!"  
"Heaven forbid. Now Mr Malfoy, do you know what that was?"  
"Poison."  
"It it were, Mr Malfoy, you can rest assured that it would have been fed to Mr Longbottom long before you."  
The Gryffindors gasped in unison, and Seamus and Dean jumped in front of Neville.   
"No, Mr Malfoy, that was Veritaserum, and one of the strongest sorts too."  
Draco blanched.  
"Now please, did you write this note?"  
Draco's lips thinned.  
"Yes."  
"Can you remember what you wrote?"  
"Yes."  
"Can you tell the class what you wrote?  
"No."  
"Tell the class what you wrote.  
Draco sighed and closed his eyes.  
"If Potter dies, you can join them all in hell if you killed yourself."  
There was a buzz of indignation on the Gryffindor's side, and Dean almost leapt at Draco, but Parvati caught him by the scruff of his neck.  
The Slytherins sniggered.  
"For the sake of the world, I hope you do not plan to become a writer. It would put people off the profession entirely. 50 points from Slytherin and a three hour detention in the library every day for the next month."  
  
***  
  
"I can't believe it! 50 points!"  
"You know I do believe that is the first potions lesson ever that we have had no points taken off."  
"We did. You're talking gibberish again."  
"I'm not-"  
"And Malfoy! I'm not surprised Hermione tried to kill him!  
"That note sounded like something Padma wrote to me when we were seven."  
"It was horrible though."  
"Where do you think they are?"  
"Who?"  
"The Weasleys."  
"No Idea."  
"You are so stupid. They're going to be in the Edge aren't they."  
"Yes but Lavender, where's the Edge?"  
"Well I don't know! I'm not Professor Trelawney!"  
"That much is obvious."  
"I wasn't talking to you!"  
"No. You're right. You haven't talked to me since last year, and please, don't stop now. It's so nice to be granted a holiday."  
"Look, I've had it with you and your stupid comments!"  
"Lavendeeeeer! Lavendeeeeeeer! Shut uuuuup! Shut uuuuup! Oh sod oooof!"  
"Shut up laughing you two! And Seamus, I'm about to copy Hermione and beat you half to death!"  
"With what? An eyeshadow brush?"  
"Oi! Shhh! Hermione's coming!"  
"Who?"  
"Hermione!"  
"Oh."  
"Shut up!  
"..."  
"Hermione! How are you?  
"Mmmm."  
"Well, if it's any consolation, I hear Malfoy's going to be polishing bookshelves until his hands fall off."  
"Fantastic. Brilliant. I could not be any happier."  
"Glad to hear it. Well,...oh. Bye!"  
"You missed the sarcasm didn't you?"  
"What?"  
"Seamus, wake up! She could not have cared less if Draco Malfoy had had both arms lopped off by a rabid manticore."  
"Well, I don't see why. Personally, I would be thrilled to bits!"  
"But you have not just lost both your best friends is the space of one week!"  
"But I'm not Hermione."  
"That's not the point! If-"  
"And anyway, it's her own stupid fault! If she had visited Harry at least once, she might not be in this position!"  
"Oh you make me sick! She saved his bloody life! It's him who doesn't want to see her!"  
"And I really don't want to see you. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to bed. Even the canopy is more an interesting conversationalist than you. Not to mention a hell of a lot prettier."  
"Fine! Bugger off! See if I come running after you! And by the way, have a chat with your mother about your grammar, because canopies cannot be pretty!"  
"Neither can you, Lavender."  
"Bugger off! Just bugger off!"  
"I'm sorry, I already have, but if you wish, I can sod off, piss off or-"  
"Just get out of my sight!"  
"Lavender, he's gone."  
"Thank the bloody lord!"  
  
***  
  
The next morning was a Saturday, and Draco and Belladonna were the last to arrive for breakfast. It was rather obvious why. Belladonna was not, after all, in the habit of smudging her make up, and neither did Draco keep his hair looking like muggles had been testing nuclear bombs in it.   
That was Pansy Parkinson's job.  
Draco sat down in front of Blaise Zabini, and Belladonna, claiming she wasn't hungry, stood behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder.  
"Belle, I don't want to start a fight, but I can't exactly swallow my crumpets like this."  
Belladonna giggled.  
"That's just tough luck isn't it?"  
"Belle..."  
"Fine." She let go of Draco's neck and launched into a conversation with Blaise about Quidditch.  
"With Potter and Weasley out of the way, Gryffindor don't stand a chance."  
"Precisely, and from what I've heard, Weasley was going to organise new tactics during the holidays."  
"So they're stuck with first term tactics?"  
"Better still, they're stuck with last year's tactics. Apparently Potter, Weasley and mudblood Granger went to France this summer and Granger refused to let them talk about Quidditch even for a second. She said it gave her a headache."  
"What and her rambling on about Transfiguration this and Ancient Runes that doesn't bore us half to death?"  
"Don't ask me. That is the strange psychology of mudbloods."  
"It's good to see she's done something right for a change."  
"That's gibberish."  
"Well, look at it this way, If it weren't for Granger, Gryffindor might actually have new tactics."  
"I doubt that. When was the last time you saw Gryffindor come up with something 'new' and groundbreaking?"  
"I haven't."  
Draco opened his mouth to say something, but so sooner had he done so, the conversation had changed course from Quidditch to the new Weird Sisters song.  
Draco could not have cared less.  
Around him, nothing seemed worthwhile to talk about. Everyone in the entire hall except for a handful of the teachers, Belladonna, Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle were giving him the evil eye. Even a large division of the Slytherins didn't think taunting Hermione was good enough a reason for them to lose 50 points.   
The Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors were looking at him as if he were an incredibly disgusting breed of slug.  
Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown were regarding each other in much the same way.  
Hermione was playing with her food.  
Next to him, Crabbe and Goyle were talking in their mother tongue: Troll.   
Their vocabulary, being limited to 'grunt', 'snort' and, in the last year, 'you smell' (which considering their brain capacity, was a huge achievement.), didn't leave much space for conversation.  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione drop her fork and leave the hall. No sooner had she shut the door that Seamus and Lavender leaped at each other, punching and kicking and scratching and pulling. Parvati shrieked and made a desperate attempt to pull her enraged friends away from each other, and Dean groaned and hit his head against the table.   
The Creevey brothers were watching the scene in awed interest, and Laura MacFarlane looked bored with the whole situation.  
Several first years were cheering them on, while a third year girl was looking strongly disapproving.  
Professor McGonagall sighed loudly and shouted at a Ravenclaw prefect to pull the two apart.   
She ended up having to set an entire army of prefects on them, and had to send four pupils to the hospital wing.   
Seamus had to be sent to Madame Pomfrey on a stretcher.   
Belladonna and Blaise were killing themselves laughing.  
Draco smirked and wrapped his arm around Belladonna's waist.  
"I'm off now. You heard Snape. On Saturdays it's detention morning and evenings."  
Belladonna pouted.  
"It's not fair. She reached up and played with his collar. "Just because Snape decides to be all nice to the Gryffindor doesn't mean I have to pay for his madness."  
"And just because he's gone bonkers doesn't mean I should pay either." Pansy said, and winked at him.  
Draco blinked at her and turned to look at Belladonna.  
"Yeah, you know what, I'm rather thankful now."  
Belladonna smirked. (It is, after all, a very common rule. Slytherins don't smile.  
They smirk) and kissed him.  
Pansy was enraged.  
"Well hurry back." Belladonna whispered. "I'll make the bed and get the wine. You-" She glanced down suggestively. "You work on not getting yourself killed."  
Draco raised one eyebrow.  
"Because then what would you do?"  
"Oh, I don't know. Mourn for a bit, say about three hours, then summon Apployon Southorn out of Ireland to 'console' me."  
"Would you mind if a ghost joined you?"  
"That would depend of whether or not you could get motivated, wouldn't it?"  
"I wasn't talking about me. Heaven forbid. Just the thought of Southorn completely starkers is traumatising enough, thank you very much. No, I was thinking more along the lines of say...the Bloody Baron?"  
Belladonna laughed and pushed him away.   
"You've got me."  
"Glad to hear it."  
"Well go on then. The sooner you go, the sooner you're back."  
"Aren't you coming?"  
"Where? To the library? Draco, you forget. They banned me in our third year."  
"Ah yes. The domino effect put into action on bookshelves. I'm surprised they didn't expel you for that."  
"It was hardly very difficult. I just told them I'd cast a spell to get a book off the top shelf, and I'd overdone it."  
"So why did they ban you?"  
"Draco! You call yourself head boy? You're forgetting Pince's golden rule. Strictly no magic in the library. Unfortunately, the word 'strictly' is not in my vocabulary."  
"By the looks of things, neither is 'late'."  
"Surely, you've learnt that by now. And it seems foreign to you too."  
"How?"  
"When was the last time you came to class on time?"  
"March, I believe. Same as you."  
"Absolutely. Only I come up with better excuses than: " I was ambushed outside the Slytherin dormitory by rampaging hinkypunks."  
"How dare you insult my verbal creations! They're astounding! That rambling muggle hypocrite madman Shake-a-spear looks pitiful next to Draco Mal-"  
"My three year old brother could do a better job."  
"Don't be stupid."  
"You say this without a hint of sarcasm."  
"There's a reason for that."  
"You're perfectly serious?"  
"Of course!"  
"Good grief. Somebody, please, lend this man a straight jacket."  
"Excuse me? Since when has pride been cause for lock up at St Mungo's?"  
"Since you just said so. And believe you me, if vanity called for the same treatment, Nott would be an old woman before she was let out."  
Draco looked around. A Ravenclaw prefect was standing next to them, hands on her hips. She nodded at Draco.  
"Malfoy, I've been told to inform you that unless you get a move on, you're going to be late for your detention."  
Draco glanced at the head tale. Snape was watching him, and raised his eyebrows in the direction of the Entrance Hall when he saw Draco looking.  
Belladonna was looking at the prefect through narrowed eyes.   
"I know you. You're Chang's sister."  
"Which would make me my own sister." The prefect said slowly, shaking her head slightly.  
"Cho Chang you stupid sod!" Belladonna barked.  
The prefect stabbed a finger at her badge.  
"5 points from Slytherin. Be careful what you say from now on, Nott. And yes, I am Cho Chang's sister, but where your back stabbing is concerned I'd rather be known as Ling Chang. I daresay one or two of your sharp tongued friends might remember it long enough to spread whatever rumour you concoct twice around the school, until it comes back to you completely deformed. I bid you good day, and unless you want me ask Ms Parkinson to carry you there Mr Malfoy, I'd get your arse into whatever detention you're serving sometime in the next ten minutes."  
She stuck her nose into the air and sauntered off back to the Ravenclaw table where, Draco noticed, no one was waiting for her.   
Belladonna rolled her eyes.  
"At a glance, you can tell she's a Chang. But when she starts rambling on and on about nothing, it's painfully obvious."  
  
*** 


End file.
